Well, it still seems to be working. Weight stable, within a few pounds either side of my target. The Consolidation Phase, so vital because 'you are like a deep-sea diver coming up from the depths who has to do it in stages for safety's sake', lasts a set length of time: 5 days for each pound lost. In my case 100 days. I have reached the halfway point, and may now eat two celebration meals a week, instead of one, and two servings of starchy crap; while still faithfully maintaining 'the famous protein Thursday' and the 3tbsp of oatbran a day, without which Dukan is not Dukan.
In fact, I passed the magic 50 days on Wednesday without noticing. If I'd known that yesterday, I would have eaten chocolate cake with my champagne. The chancellor and I were celebrating the successful re-display of the Anglo-Saxon Lichfield angel and the Chad Gospel (older than the Book of Kells) in their posh new glass cases, ready for the Staffordshire Hoard Touring Exhibition next month. It was a hair-raising day (from 8.30am till 6.30pm) in the chapter House, all captured on CCTV. Never again will I make the mistake of thinking museum curators and conservators lead a dull bookish life.
But back to Dukan. Hats off to the fellow. Or 'Chappeau!' as I believe the French say. I went for my usual 3mile run this morning, and I have to tell you, It's a whole lot easier to get round when you're not lugging the equivalent of 40 packs of butter. Of course, the real test comes two years down the line. I acknowledge there is still time for the whole Doodah Diet to go pear-shaped. I use the term advisedly.
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